I must be calmer when cooking. I must not start drinking before the guests arrive. I must not put the pots, the grater and all the knives into the dishwasher and set it going when I've only made half the meal.

I must wear my glasses and not mistake tsp for tbsp, especially when cooking curry, even though it's ridiculous some fool decided to abbreviate them in a way that makes them appear identical. I will not double the green chillies on the basis that they "don't look like strong ones".

I will make the two curries consecutively rather than simultaneously, acknowledging that it would be a shame if I became confused half-way through and added the second half of the chicken recipe to the first half of the fish recipe.

I will maintain calm when Jocasta enters the kitchen, even though she has decided to make crepe suzette, yeah exactly, crepe suzette, that traditional accompaniment to all Indian cooking. I will not become petulant over her use of the stovetop's best burner to pre-make her crepes, even though I am at a crucial point, after which everything will be pretty much ruined.

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I will not, late that night, employ the phrase "it was your fault everything was a disaster".

I will read through both recipes before I begin, including turning over the page, so as to avoid seeing the phrase "simmer for three hours" only 10 minutes before the doorbell rings.

I will acknowledge that while a good chef can be creative there are limits to substitution and that another tablespoon of Kashmiri chilli powder is not always a replacement for turmeric.

I will place the wooden spoon on the bench between stirrings, acknowledging that were it to be placed horizontally across the top of the pot there is a chance it would catch fire and set off the fire alarm.

Should this happen I will first extinguish the spoon and then turn off the fire alarm. I shall achieve this second task by standing on a chair and calmly pressing the button, rather than swinging at the thing with a broom handle while shouting at Jocasta that it's her fault for stealing my burner at "just the moment everything was going so well". I will air the room before the guests' arrival, in order to remove the smell of burning and disputation.

I shall greet the guests after reminding myself, via a hurried consultation with Jocasta, that Mike and Belinda's children are called Mitchell and Pretencia. I shall remember, while in the process of opening the door, that I was meant to cook sausages for the children.

I shall ask Mike to fetch drinks, while I ignite the barbecue, defrost the sausages, throw the chicken into the sauce meant for the fish, and the fish into the sauce meant for the chicken. Turning the page in the curry book I will spot "Step 9: Simmer for three hours", then save the day by deciding that's another way of saying "20 minutes on a rolling boil".

I shall make the rice, having washed out a spare pan, found on the stove-top and not apparently in use.

Upon Mike's invitation, I shall request a light beer, realising I've somehow knocked off half a bottle of sauv-blanc and it's only 6.30pm. Reeling slightly from the alcohol, I shall run backwards and forwards from barbecue to stove, while fending off the group's growing hunger by serving some traditional Indian appetisers such as sardines on toast.

I shall serve Mitchell and Pretencia their sausages, which appear to have endured some sort of nuclear firestorm, and will then plonk out the curries, both of which prove so stacked with chilli they could add to global warming.

I shall place fresh bottles of wine in the freezer, aware that my guests are sculling sauvignon blanc as if their mouths were in flames, with the wine the only available hose.

I shall fetch the sausages which, for some reason, Mitchell and Pretencia have left untouched, and offer them around. I shall calmly accept it as a compliment when one guest remarks: "these are comparatively edible".

I shall remain calm even after Jocasta has gone to fetch the crepe suzette and returns, in some distress, with the news I have tipped her sauce out of the pan in order to make the rice.

I shall brightly suggest sugar and lemon.

As my guests depart - staggering from a meal which has involved five bottles of sauvignon blanc and two burnt sausages - I shall resist the urge to request compliments for my cooking, even though really it wasn't too bad, the chicken in fish sauce being frankly innovative, while the Indian rice with hints of crepe-suzette sauce was a revelation.

Actually, the whole thing was a triumph. If there's blame to be apportioned, I really think it should go to Jocasta and the whole burner business, plus the person who created near-identical abbreviations for tablespoon and teaspoon.

That's the trouble with cooking: other people are always getting in your way.

Twitter: @rglover702

2 comments

Author needs much more practice. Practice a meal before trying it out on guests. Practice planning a full menu. Practice doing without anything from a bottle if bottle carries lettering --% ALC/VOL in tiny font around the nether regions of the bottle. Then simplify, simplify, simplify - makes life run so much more smoothly. PS Children don't add a lot to enjoyment of an adult evening out. Hire a "nanny" to take them to an early evening movie. Any number of nannies - whatever it takes. There is a distinct need for business opportunity, currently not being filled - for "Hire a Chef". Seriously!

Commenter

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Date and time

March 15, 2014, 6:42PM

Richard, with you income from the ABC funded by tax payers and your income from FairfaxMedia funded by redundancies, i would have thought that the pressure would be on.Mate this is not very good, probably like the curry.